


Call of the Wild

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set shortly before the scene in Crestwood, Lavellan asks Solas about something that's been bothering her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of the Wild

“Solas, why did elves stop keeping wolves?”

Solas looked up from his book, perplexed. While he had been studying some of the new texts Dorian had ordered from Tevinter, Remli had crept into the rotunda without a sound. Now the Inquisitor stood staring at the painting of the twin wolves, mouths raised in an eternal, silent cry to the heavens above.

“Vhenan?” he asked, puzzled at the tense fold of her arms, and the stiff set of her spine. He glanced up, briefly, to gauge the time, based on the light filtering down from the rookery. Still dark, the moon long since set and the sun not yet risen. It was late for her to be awake, and too early for her to prepare for the day. A bad dream, perhaps? 

“I just was thinking, the Dalish no longer ride the halla into battle, but they remain with us, and keep us company,” she explained, then gestured to the mural panel. “Wolves wander the areas we travel, but they stay far from our camps. Why? Did the old magic keep the wolves bound to the elves?”

He pursed his lips, trying to recall the last time a wolf walked in step with an elf. “No… I do not think it was magic that kept the warriors and the wolves together.”

“So what was it?” she pressed, coming to stand in front on him. “Did some warriors keep halla, while others kept wolves? Did wolf companions fall out of favor? Growing up, I always wondered what it would be like to hunt with a wolf by my side, but Keeper Deshanna told me it was foolish to think such things.” She turned to him, her face pale and her hair askew, as though she’d been running some great distance and only now stopped to take a breath.

 _A nightmare then,_ he thought, carefully closing the book and setting it on the arm of the couch. He watched her pace, her eyes unfocused as she remembered some long forgotten snatches of memories.

“Sometimes I felt like they were guarding our camps,” she said, “but they never ventured close enough to touch, nor lingered long enough to consider them cohabiting. I’ve seen them follow us on hunting trips, but they never dared the firelight, and never touched our kills, even those left as offerings to Fen’harel.”

Solas reached out to her, beckoning her over. When she slipped her hands in his, he guided her to the couch beside him, thumb tracing lightly over her fingers. He gently kissed the top of her hand, and drew her closer to his side. 

“So many questions, Vhenan,” he murmured, feeling her quickened pulse and chilled hands. “Tell me, what is on your mind?”

She sank gratefully onto the couch, but decided to make herself more comfortable by draping herself across his now vacated lap. He smiled fondly, and moved his free hand to run through her hair as she settled down. She sighed into his touch, and he felt some of the tightness in her muscles begin to ease as she spoke.

“I dreamt I was in the Emerald Graves last night. My hooves were sharp and my stride was strong. My prey fled before me, but my feet soared over the earth, and the distance between us dwindled. “

Solas chuckled, kissing the crown of her head and running his fingers through her hair. “You were a warrior halla, then?”

“Mm,” she agreed, arching up into his touch. “But as I drew close to my prey, I saw that it was a white wolf, painted with markings of our people.”

His fingers stilled, and she huffed at the sudden loss of sensation, leaning up into his hand as she continued to recall her dream. 

“I don’t know why I was chasing it, but we stopped in a clearing in the middle of the woods. There were statues like the ones in Emprise de Lyons, but… sharper. More in focus, like they’d just been carved.”

“What did the wolf do?” Solas asked, softly.

“It just… stood there, waiting for me to come. I knew that I would kill it as soon as I was close enough, and I think the wolf knew, too. But it just stood there, waiting for me, for death. Then… it howled, such a sad and lonely song. I thought my heart would break to hear it.”

He squeezed her hand and lightly caressed her cheek to brush away the start of tears in her eyes. “The wolf accepted his fate, then?”

“I don’t know. I woke up before I reached it. I’m glad,” she said, bringing up an arm to scrub across her eyes. “I don’t know why it bothered me so much, I’ve killed wolves before, chased them down to stop them from harming our halla. I just… it was a terrible thing to see.”

“Atisha, Vhenan,” Solas breathed, drawing her up in his lap and tucking her head against his cheek. She gratefully sank into the embrace, the thunder of the halla hooves and the mournful cry of the wolf fading as she listened to his heart.

“I do not know for certain why the elves forsook the wolves,” Solas ventured after a comfortable silence had passed. She shifted her position to look up at him, and he kissed her brow, gently. 

“You can only see so much in the Fade,” he explained, “and even when we sleep in the Emerald Graves, the memories there are ancient, the spirits reticent. They do not wish to give up their secrets, even to one of their own.”

He sighed, shifting her off of his lap and back into a sitting position beside him.

“Based on what I know of the Dalish and their customs— and you would know this better than I, Vhenan—I believe it might have something to do with the betrayal of Fen’harel.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, scrunching up her nose. “They stopped allying themselves with the wolves because of the actions of a false god? That’s foolish, foolhardy, even, if they were half as protective and loyal as legends say.”

Solas smiled slightly. “False or not,” he replied, “the wolves were no longer welcome among the People after Fen’harel’s actions. I have seen few elves of this age who long keep the company of a wolf.”

“A pity,” Remli said at last, leaning against him as she held on to his arm. “I would have like to have had a wolf by my side as I rode off into the sunset on an overgrown battle-halla. That’s one dream shattered.” Then, she moved to straddle his lap, grinning down at him, grin creeping across her face.

”I could probably get away with a white hart and no one would know the difference. But the wolf would be trickier. What do you say, Solas? Want to be my faithful wolf companion?” She leaned in to purr in his ear, “I am sure that you wouldn’t bite me… unless I asked nicely.”

“Vhe—nan!” he yelped as she nipped lightly at his neck.

“Or you could be the mighty elf warrior, and I could be your wolf.” She sat back in his lap a moment, cocking her head to the side in thought. “Sera does say I’m a bit of a bitch sometimes, so—“

“Enough, Lavellan,” Solas laughed, coaxing her down for a kiss, thumbs running over the light tear stains on her cheeks. “You will be the death of me,” he murmured through gentle kisses and caresses.

 

That evening, Solas watched her as she slept, his mind returning to the imagery of her dream. For all that she claimed not to hold with the superstitions of her clan, the symbolism was not lost on him, at least. Ever since she’d admitted to dreaming more frequently and vividly since she received the mark, he’d listened intently to her descriptions of what she saw as she slept. Not having any training in magic, she did not truly comprehend or appreciate the pull of the Fade, nor did she seem to realize that was what happening.

 _If you explained what the anchor truly was, how it ties to the Fade, ties to you, then she would,_ he silently chastised himself. _And she would understand the significance of what drinking from the well truly means._

It was true. If he told her everything, told her about the mark, about the orb, about Corypheus, about himself, the gods, everything, only then could she truly begin to appreciate the complex situation she’d stumbled into when she’d risen from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Armed with the full truth, she would have a better idea of how to proceed, how to succeed. How could he not arm her with that knowledge, to prepare her for the inevitable battles yet to come?

Because that knowledge would come at a cost, a risk so high that not even the Trickster god was willing to take his chances, even if he pulled in every card to stack the odds in his favor. 

The thought of her fury, her disgust when she learned of what he truly was, what he had done, how he had hoped to use her… to see that unwavering hatred on her face would break him.

They had come to a crossroads at which he saw only two options. One, he would reveal himself to her, and she would hate him for it. She would most likely accept his help, for a time at least, but she would spurn him and curse him for sentencing the People to an early death, for betraying their Gods. All love would be lost between them, and she would hate him until the end of her days. It would be a bitter, broken path, one he had made long ago and one he would endure.

The alternative was to end it, now, to focus on his mission and hope that she would move on to find someone more deserving of her, someone who would not spin sweet lies and half-truths to keep their own fears appeased. She would be upset, yes, but this path would smooth out as time went on and she would go on with her life. The knight commander seemed fond of her, and in time, perhaps, she could find happiness with the man. Fen’harel would leave, and… well, he would endure. It would not be the first time he’d walk his road alone.

A small, quiet part of him dared to think of another path, one where he might tell her all and she would forgive and embrace him, accepting him for all that he was and forgiving his past transgressions. Her compassion and thoughtfulness was what had drawn him to her in the first place, and her actions continued to be merciful, even to a fault. If she could forgive the blighted Wardens, surely she could find it in her heart to forgive him as well? 

That road was a tentative thing, barely more than a footpath, wildly overgrown with optimism and folly. One never knew when such a path would abruptly end, or where it might lead. He could not afford the distraction, not now. 

He could feel that lonely and desperate song of the wolf building in his chest, and bit down the urge to cry his laments to the cold and distant stars.

“You will be the death of me, Vehnan,” he breathed as he cradled her close.


End file.
